down to new orleans

When I was a kid and you flew across the country at night there were vast expanses of darkness.

Now there aren't. Instead it seems as if some benevolent fairy has been busied with the infinite sprinkling of sparkling dust across the landscape.

Did you see the fires on the way down? They were so frequent and the spread of their smoldered flat bloom was so enormous each time it wasn't a surprise when we landed and the sky was brown at sunset instead of red like I'd hoped it to be.

Did you see how the captains slide their ships around the curves of the Mississippi?

And did you notice the Toyota Camry rolling slowly through the French quarter with the fender scraping the pavement?

And what about the woman at the bar pulling her hair back in just the way that she thought her guy would like it and she was right and they ordered another round straight away?

And what about the mother and father rushing hurriedly down St. Charles, him glancing at her and her at him and the three children they traveled with oblivious to the heroin transactions all around them.

And don't forget the penal principal who was so filled with purpose and love that alcohol couldn't dissuade her from the prophecy.

And the anesthesiologist and his wife. Down to celebrate the big two oh. Their teenage boys at home, dogging he was sure. Music, you see, is everywhere down here he said as his wife was put to sleep by a hurricane and ESPN 3 on the convention hotel bar TV's.